Rummel Abellion clapped two of its four hands together. “Excellent! I do so appreciate cooperation. Now then, Nero already knows what needs to be done. But there’s a proper order to these things. Please let us move this along promptly.”

It moved across the chamber floor with surprising grace despite its strange appearance, stopping at a point perhaps thirty feet from where Arthur and Jacob lay.

“The center of the array goes here,” it said, tapping one clawed foot against the fungus-covered stone. “Nero, if you would? I shall now bestow onto you the pattern. Ready yourself.”

Nero straightened, grimacing as he tried to stifle his discomfort and unease. He walked forward and braced himself with his dagger still clutched in his good hand. Rummel Abellion raised one finger and pressed it to his forehead again.

This time, Nero was more prepared for the flood of information. But that didn’t make it any less overwhelming.

The pattern exploded through his mind, as a plethora of images and pure spatial understanding. He saw how the lines curved and broke down, where they intersected, the angles and configurations needed to be maintained. Circles within circles, runes of a dozen different families all woven together in a tapestry of geometric precision.

It was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

When the creature removed its finger, Nero staggered back, breathing hard.

“Nero… Are you okay?” Arthur called out from where he lay.

“I’m fine,” Nero managed.

He looked down at the fungus-covered floor, then at the pattern now burned into his memory. The array would be massive—at least twenty feet in diameter. And every line needed to be perfect.

“I’ll need light,” he said.

The creature gestured at the walls, it’s voice a bit hurried. “You have it. The fungi provides more than enough illumination for what you need to do.”

Nero threw it a glare.

Then he sighed and knelt at the designated center point, his dagger held in his good hand. The blade gleamed in the blue light as he positioned it against the thick carpet of fungus.

Then he began to scrape.

The fungi came away easily under the knife’s edge, revealing the black stone beneath. Nero worked slowly, following the pattern in his mind with painstaking care. A circle first, large and encompassing. His arm ached and his broken ribs sent jolts of pain with each movement. But he kept going.

The circle complete, he moved to the inner patterns. The runes were a mixture of something more familiar, something Nero recognized as being similar to the runes of those from the Keresh family; symbols of binding and limitation. Interspersed with Malthic glyphs that spoke of transformation and change. And woven through it all, the main basis of these runes, were the primordial script… something that predated both families and was completely alien and indicipherable to him.

Minutes stretched into the hour.

Nero’s hand began to cramp. His vision blurred from the strain of maintaining such precision while injured. But every time he thought about stopping, he remembered his goals.

The fiery hatred within him was more than enough to keep him going.

Although Nero didn’t think he was the best runesmith out there. But he was confident he could draw these ones out precisely.

“You’re doing well,” Rummel Abellion said at one point. It had been watching the entire time, circling the growing array like a predator observing its prey.

“Very good work. I’m impressed.”

Nero didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the task.

He scraped away another line of fungus, creating a sweeping curve that connected two of the outer runes. The pattern was beginning to take shape now, visible as dark lines against the blue-glowing carpet. From Arthur’s position, it probably looked like he was making random scratches in the growth.

But if viewed from above, it was obvious that something coherent was being formed.

Some more time passed.

At this point, Nero had no idea how long it had been.

Nero’s hand was shaking now from exhaustion and pain. For some reason, his injuries didn’t seem to be getting any better. Sweat dripped from his face onto the stone, mixing with the blue residue from the scraped fungi.

“Almost there,” Rummel Abellion said encouragingly.

Nero traced the last few runes with trembling fingers. These were the most complex, with symbols that seemed to fold in on themselves, creating a strange symphony of nonsense that touched the very fringes of mystery.

The final line connected.

The array was finally complete.

The moment Nero’s blade lifted from the stone, something changed in the chamber. The air grew heavier, denser, as if pressure was building from some invisible source. The blue glow of the fungi dimmed slightly, then brightened, pulsing in a rhythm that matched the beating of Nero’s heart.

“Beautiful,” the creature breathed, walking around the array’s perimeter. “Absolutely beautiful. You have a talent for this, young man. Perhaps in another life, you would have made an excellent ritualist.”

Nero pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His hand was covered in blue residue from the fungi, his body cramped and aching.

“What now?” he asked.

The creature pointed toward the pool with two of its four arms. “Now you gather the ingredients. Take that vessel there—” it gestured to a stone cup that Nero hadn’t noticed before, sitting at the edge of the chamber, “—and fill it halfway with water from the pool.”

Nero walked over to the cup picked it up, not even bothering to question how such an item seemed to have just spawned into existence. The stone was smooth and cold, carved from the same black material as the floor. He carried it to the pool’s edge, kneeling carefully.

The water was perfectly still, perfectly clear. In its depths, he could see the vast shape of the thing that slumbered there.

He tried not to look at it directly as he dipped the cup into the water.

The liquid was ice-cold, so cold it burned his fingers where it touched them. He pulled the cup back when it was half full, being careful not to spill.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep